The universe must think I’m fucking strong, because this shit is getting relentless and I just don’t know how much more I can take. I’m no Xena. Instead, look at by feet, beside the piece of dung and there you’ll find the beetle juice that is/was me.  Although you must admit the breastplate is mighty fine indeed! Even from this perspective.

On the plus side, I suppose, is the liberty the comes from divorce and the repo man, the unveiling of several butts (trying to keep it clean here and not say the word assholes — oops), the opportunity to start from ground zero, and the yee-fucking-haw adventure of not know where I’ll be tomorrow. Keeps me alert at 3am, high-strung and wide-eyed.

Which reminds me of my favourite acronym: AFGO. Another fucking growth opportunity.

Sadly, I can’t even vent here any more. Mostly now my frequent readers are those busy-bodies who are combing through my posts to see if they are even mentioned by vague implication. Apparently, that won’t do either.